


Habit & Routine

by minute0fdecay



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Amnesia, Crush at First Sight, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Memory Loss, Mystery, eventual angst, it'll happen friends, ryan is basically leonard shelby from memento
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minute0fdecay/pseuds/minute0fdecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off Christopher Nolan's Memento (2000). Ryan can't form any new memories, doesn't know what he's doing and all he has to go on is tattoos and a few notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Awake.

Ryan looks around, takes a quick sweep of his environment. Just an anonymous motel room. Painting of an unremarkable landscape on the wall, standard grey carpet on the floor. Sprawled out in bed, he’s not sure how long he’s been here, where “here” is or what he’s doing here.

On his right. Bedside cabinet. Won’t contain anything except a copy of the New Testament. He checks… he’s right. Ashtray on the top of the cabinet with his key in. Daze Inn, Los Santos, room 204. He remembers Los Santos. He remembers his crew. He remembers the fight.

He looks down. He’s clothed in a plain black t-shirt and some grey boxers. Pair of jeans and a navy leather bike jacket are hung over a chair by the dresser. He doesn’t remember if he has pyjamas.

BURNS DID THIS

The message glares up at him from his left thigh. It’s his own handwriting, a little messier than usual. He tries to rub it off, but it won’t budge, won’t even smudge.

HE PUT YOU IN PRISON is in the same handwriting on his right thigh. Again, he tries to wipe the message away, but much like the message on his left thigh, it won’t go away. Tattoos. A permanent way of keeping a note.

Curious, he turns his attention to his arms to see if he has more.

ANTEROGRADE AMNESIA is on his wrist, with a short explanation below, in a standard font, clearly done by a professional:

_The loss of ability to create new memories after a traumatic event. Long term memories remain intact._

ARREST DATE: 18/04/2011 just underneath that.

Ryan puts the pieces together. Burns (whoever that was), put him in prison (for whatever reason), he was released at some point and… he doesn’t know anything else. Has he been in Los Santos for all that time? Has he been hunting Burns down? He’s covered in more messages. Up his arm in italic script is KEEP YOUR PHONE CHARGED – TAKE PICTURES. DON’T BELIEVE THEIR LIES is emblazoned on his right arm. He takes off his shirt, undoubtedly he has more. He walks over to the mirror on the dresser and observes.

POLICE REPORT FROM TRUSTED SOURCE is written just above his left nipple. Further down his chest is KHAKI BAG IS YOURS. Other messages such as BEHAVE, MEMORY IS TREACHERY and ONLY ANSWER TRUSTED NUMBERS are scrawled across his body. But at the moment he’s looking for the khaki bag which is apparently his.

He locates it under his bed – each compartment is labelled. The largest compartment has a tag sown onto it, stating that this pocket holds the police report, change of clothes (shirt x 2, jeans x1, underwear x2, socks x2) – a note added crudely with pen (DO LAUNDRY) – his phone and charger. They’re not in his bag but he locates them across the room, his phone charging on the table-for-one pushed up against the window. The second pocket contains his wallet (which has his credit cards, his driver’s licence and some cash), his passport, a paper pad and a pen. The small compartment on the front has the note “put motel keys here” stitched onto it.  He puts the bag down and sits quietly for a moment.

He starts after hearing a car horn in the distance, takes a quick sweep of his environment. Just an anonymous motel room. Painting of an unremarkable landscape on the wall, standard grey carpet on the floor. Sprawled out in bed, he’s not sure how long he’s been here, where “here” is or what he’s doing here.

 

***

 

Prior to the incident, Ryan had not been a model citizen. He had been Vagabond, or The Fear, real name whatever car licence he had to hand on that day. Ruthless, effective killer, best known for his work with the Fake Achievement Hunter Crew (the original Achievement Hunter Crew having been the protagonists of a series of popular teen fiction books back in the early 90s), a gang of criminals who were loud and noisy in their work, but otherwise undetectable. Geoff Ramsey was the face of the group – literally. If those “in the know” thought of the FAHC they pictured Geoff’s face. He’d been busted once on a bank robbery, but being a well off man he was able to bribe his way out of prison. Anyone who was anyone knew that the Los Santos Police Department were firmly in the palm of Ramsay’s hand, which allowed him to walk around the city like a free man.

That gratuity was not extended to the other crew members, who had never been seen, let alone caught. Those in other gangs had heard of names – The Fury, The Fear, The Pain, The End – those names had been chosen on purpose, fully aware that they were straight from a video game – but they had never been seen apart from the other members of the FAHC.

Michael Jones was The Fury. Partially due to his use of explosives, mainly to do with his temper. Ryan had been The Fear – for obvious reasons. Ray Narvaez Jr, a scrawny young kid who looked like nothing much held the title of The Pain. Geoff joked it was because he was a pain in the ass, but it was mainly because he was lethal with a rifle, be it sniper or assault. Jaqueline Patillo (Jaq, for short), the queen of anything digital, was The End. Jaq could wipe all traces of a person from any database and write them off as dead, regardless of their ability to breathe, hack any bank account, security system, whatever. She had access to Merryweather, Trevor Phillips Industries and LSPD intel. She was magic. Geoff, for obvious reasons, was The Boss. He joked there would never be a Big Boss – he’d never allow himself to get into that situation.

 

***

 

Ryan holds the police report in his hands. It’s heavy and he’s tired, so he tucks it away in his bag again, the khaki bag that is his. He knows he’s in Los Santos, he knows he’s lived there his whole life. He knows everything about himself – Ryan James Haywood, The Fear, Vagabond, notorious criminal but never seen, only child, parents both dead, taken in by Geoff Ramsey, pin number 3392 – he can remember a lot. The last thing he remembers is running into a bank – possibly with a gun in hand. The rest is blank. He knows about Los Santos and that he’s lived there his whole life. He knows the route from his personal safehouse to his crew safehouse, and the routes he used to walk growing up, to and from school, to the shops, to the mall, to the bus stops. He knows how to drive and remembers his driving lessons. But he as he looks out of his window, he can’t place where in Los Santos the motel is.

He packs the rest of his bag, places his motel keys in the designated pocket and heads out of the door. It takes him to find the lobby – the place is a maze of corridors and confusing signs. Eventually though he’s on the ground floor – of wherever he is – and heads towards the lobby, assuming that’s where he needs to go.

He stops for a second when he sees the man behind the desk.

He must be in his late twenties, early thirties maybe, at a push. His sandy blond hair sticks up over his head as if he had just got out of bed, but it’s around midday and he’s probably been at work a while. His nose is large, and especially looks it from the side profile that Ryan is able to see, but his face and the rest of his skin is beautifully tanned, like the caramel from inside of his favourite chocolate bar. His smile, which Ryan sees as he interacts with a customer, is just as sweet. Ryan remembers his struggle coming out when he was younger, and realises why he is so awestruck by the man in front of him. He blushes. What draws Ryan to him the most is his accent. Beautifully British, not tinged with the American drawl at all. Ryan feels butterflies in his stomach, and is almost embarrassed at how profound an effect the man has had on him. He assumes he is in charge of the lobby, due to his being behind the counter. The customer he was talking to has gone now. Ryan walks over.

“Afternoon, Ryan”, the man says cheerfully. “How are you today?”

Ryan is puzzled. He looks at the gorgeous lad in front of him. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

The man nods, giggles a little. “Yes. Yes we have. Gavin.” He says, extending his hand. Ryan takes it – his skin is soft and warm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure we have met before… so I guess I’ve told you about my condition?”

“I think so,” Gavin says, a light tone to his voice. “Can’t make new memories, right?”

Ryan can’t remember and looks down awkwardly. He looks down at the back of his hand. YOU HAVE AA is written, with an arrow leading down to the definition of anterograde amnesia on his wrist. He looks up at the man, the gorgeous, caramel-skinned man, and smiles. “Yep.”

“We have this conversation every afternoon,” Gavin says, blushing a little.

“I bet you tell me that every afternoon too,” Ryan replies, chuckling. He blushes too. For a few seconds, the two of them look at each other, the way two school crushes look at each other from across the playground.

“Oh, by the way,” the man says, breaking the silence (at this point, Ryan can’t remember where he is, why he’s here or where “here” is). “Your friend left you a note.”

He slides a piece of folded paper across the counter.

_Meet at vb sh at 2. Bm._

He understands vb sh. Vagabond safehouse. He doesn’t know who, or what, BM is. He shrugs. He’s got nothing else better to do, probably.

“Ryan? You need to pay the room rate” the man behind the counter states. Ryan looks up from the note at the man before him. Looking at him is a man, a careful smile on his face, rugged hair, equally rugged stubble-but-nearly-beard. His accent is music to Ryan’s ears. He’s tanned all over. Reminds Ryan of the caramel from inside of his favourite chocolate bar. Ryan doesn’t know where he is, why he’s here or where “here” is, but he’s glad he’s here with this man.

“Oh uh… sure,” he says absentmindedly, going for his wallet (handily labelled) and still reeling a little from being near such an attractive man. “How much is it again?”

“140$. Twenty a night.”

“I’ve been here a week?” Ryan asks, still not sure where “here” is.

“Three. But we agreed to charge on a weekly basis.”

“Did we? I don’t remember… I’m really sorry, I have this condition…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is largely filler with a little bit of plot! It will get much better soon... I hope!

The amount of time Ryan can remember a piece of information for depends on the situation. For the most part, he remembers it for as long as he’s concentrating on said information. For example, Ryan remembers the message on the note for about five minutes, because he’s thinking about his safehouse (which he remembers from before the incident), he has the note in his hands and is looking at the note as he walks back up to his room (his room number is also on the note) and pins the note to his bag (at this point he has forgotten how he got the note, his conversation with Gavin, and the fact that he is staying in a motel). He forgets about the note and its message when he turns around and is not familiar with his surroundings.

The following process is part genuine curiosity, part instinct - muscle memory. His instinct tells him he’ll not find anything in the bedside table drawer apart from the copy of the new testament. Instinct tells him to look in the mirror. Instinct tells him to check his pockets. Habit and routine make Ryan’s life possible.

He’s stuck in this loop of reading the note and checking the room until 1:15pm, when he realises that his meeting is in half an hour and he’s probably within 45 minutes of his old safehouse. He knows most of Los Santos’ shortcuts.

 He pulls his phone out in the hope that there is some sort of clue on there as to the location of his car. At some point, he’s put a shortcut to his photo gallery on his lock screen. He taps on the screen and the most recent picture taken is one of his car, with a crude bar of text imposed on top of the image. Written in the bar are the words MY CAR – KEYS IN BAG. His bag tags inform him where he keeps his car keys, and he heads out to search the motel car park, which is only a few minutes’ walk away. He finds his car fairly quickly, thankful that a past version of himself took a picture of the licence plate. Entering his car, he forgets why he’s there, until he reads the note. He has no idea how to get there from his current location, but his pre-incident memory allows him to remember the coordinates of his safehouse. The journey is relatively straightforward.

***

“How have you been doing since last week?”

“Last week?” Ryan looks questioningly at Ray.  

“We’ve met every week since you got out, Ry,” Ray says, looking concerned. He expected this. Every week they have the same conversation. Ryan asks why he signed the note BM. Ray explains. Ray asks how he’s been. Ryan questions him. Ray explains again, and tells him to look at his tattoos.

“Ry, I have some information for you.” Ray states. He gets out and walks over to a cabinet, pulls out a manilla folder. “We tracked Burns down.”

Ryan tries to look pleased (is this good news?) and pretends to know what Ray is talking about, but it doesn’t convince either of them.

“It’s on your left thigh.”

Ryan undoes his pants and pulls them down to expose his thighs (he’s done this in front of Ray before, so it doesn’t faze him). BURNS DID THIS. He tries to rub the message off with his thumb, but it’s there to stay. He turns to Ray for an explanation.

“We figured out that Burns, leader of the Roosters, was the one that set you up. You wanted to remember, so you tattooed yourself so that you wouldn’t forget. Thing is, we couldn’t track him down. He left the city and the country, for all we know. But we always kept our eyes peeled. Looks like he’s back.”

Ryan takes the folder from Ray and looks at the information. M. Burns, lengthy criminal record in his youth but appears to have kept clean for the last decade or so. Ray has written on for Ryan’s clarification, that this is because his shady dealings are well hidden these days.

“How long have I been out?” Ryan asks, after checking the rest of his tattoos.

“Six months this week” Ray replies. “Because of your condition. You got let out early. Just under five years you served, shoulda been in for a lot longer. But your situation deemed you no longer a threat. Little do they know about us.”

Jaq has included his card activity from the last year, and there’s a five year gap that coincides with Ryan’s prison time and recent release. Card activity started again this week, and was traced to a few stores in Los Santos.

The last thing Ryan remembers is running into an armoured vault. Then a bright flash. His head hits the floor and he can hear alarms going off, feels the blood pooling onto the ground below his head. Also in the folder, a report of Ryan’s injury (which led to his condition) and subsequent arrest, after they paired his DNA with several crimes (Ryan has this report in his police file, but he doesn’t remember).

Burns must have set him up.

“He took away my memory. He needs to go.”

“I’m on it. I can have him gone-“

“No.” Ryan says quietly. “I want to do it.”

Ray hesitates.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ry, but are you sure you wanna do this… I mean – you won’t… you won’t remember it.”

Ryan sighs. He has a point. But this Burns took away his ability to live, and Ryan’s not going to let that go unavenged.

Ray complies and gives Ryan another note, with Burns’ address and a hint.

_Burns likes to smoke on his balcony as the sun sets. Good sniper position from unguarded construction site nearby._

Ryan smiles to himself. He looks up the approximate sunset time and writes it on the note himself. Ray hands him a weapon. Ryan is going to take the hint. He pins the note on his bag, picks up the other bag containing the sniper rifle, and hands the old note to Ray.

“Good luck,” Ray says, hand on his shoulder, smirking.

Ryan searches his pocket and finds a scrap of paper with his own handwriting on it.

 _DAZE INN. KEYS IN YOUR BAG_. _PUT THIS BACK IN YOUR POCKET_.

The address is written below it. Trusting his handwriting, he follows the note and arrives at the motel. As he walks into the empty lobby, he can’t remember where he’s just come from or where he is but he trusts his own handwriting. He obeys the note and takes out his keys, goes to his room.

Although initially confused to find a sniper rifle amongst his luggage, the note he finds pinned to his bag explains a lot. An hour before the estimated time, Ryan heads to the position and waits for this “Burns” to step out onto his balcony. He trusts the note, but it’s not his handwriting – it’s Ray’s – but if Ray is telling him to take this guy out, he knows he needs to go.

***

The operation goes smoothly. It’s really very simple. Ryan keeps the note and the folder on Burns within eyesight to remind him what he’s doing, and at sunset he looks up from the note and into the scope. The man on the balcony is unmistakably the man in the file photo.

Ryan feels no remorse as he squeezes the trigger and feels the slight recoil from the weapon in his hands. His target crumples and falls, as if he were made out of paper towels. He doesn’t get up.

Ryan packs up his weapon, satisfied, burns the note and heads back down to the ground. No one has seen him, and no one is suspicious. He takes a moment to gather his breath.

Looking around, he’s not sure where he is. He’s not sure why his heart is racing. All he knows is that there is a bag in his hand and a lighter in his jeans pocket. He checks his phone for some sort of hint. The first thing he sees is a picture of a car with the words MY CAR – KEYS IN BAG imposed onto it. He finds a car with a matching licence plate. He finds his keys thanks to the labels on his bag. Sat in his car, he’s not sure where he is or where he’s supposed to be going. He searches his pockets for a hint.

He finds a note written in his own handwriting.

 _DAZE INN. KEYS IN YOUR BAG_. _PUT THIS BACK IN YOUR POCKET_.

Putting the address into his GPS, he heads to his location. It’s dark when he gets back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I hope you like reading this as much as I enjoy writing! There will be more slash stuff coming up soon, but I just wanted to get some plot underway. Thanks again for reading, and kudos and comments are muchos appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It's been so long since I last wrote (I've been so busy with uni) but this was really, really fun to write. Memento is an excellent film and I would highly recommend it, and I have shamelessly ripped off the idea and some of the dialogue. If any lawyers come snooping, I'm not passing this off as my own, I'm just giving Memento a lil gay twist. Thank you for reading and as always, kudos and comments are welcomed <3


End file.
